I am not particularly happy to be alive this morning.

I got about one hour of sleep.

Me, Tristan, and the living room all reek of Tristan's vomit.

Tristan threw up because he was hacking uncontrollably on this cough that just keeps getting worse and worse.

I cannot give him any cold medicine because my stupid idiot husband did not bring any home from the store the other day EVEN THOUGH it was the #1 MOST IMPORTANT THING on the list DO NOT COME HOME WITHOUT THIS.

I think about what the nurse said the other morning and wonder if the benefits of the antidepressant that keeps me sane outweigh the risks to the baby in my tummy.

I wonder if I am a risk to the baby in my tummy.

I wonder why I wanted another baby when I don't particularly like hanging out with the ones I already live with.

I don't want anything bad to happen to myself or my family, but at the same time I just wish I and/or they could fucking disappear. Just for awhile though. Really.

sick of fucking everything

Ha ha ha. Yes, I fuck everything. Wiseass.


I'm just fucking sick of people and their bullshit. I spent Easter with people I can't stand. Then I sat this morning and had an argument with someone I don't think I particularly like (and the feeling is mutual, I'm sure.) Next, we had to go get diapers and stuff, and we ran into a bunch more people I didn't care to see. My dad was incessantly asking yet again when we are going to have another kid at dinner (the nice quiet dinner my family was hoping to have alone) until finally I was like, "Actually, I'm having some fertility problems. And it's really rude to ask people such personal questions." And he was all "Ehhh, I can ask whatever I want, tough guy! It's not rude, it's family!" So they leave, we go to the mall, and there is my sister in law with her husband and kid. They're not all that bad alone, it's when you get them in a group situation (such as, say, Easter dinner) that I want to gouge their fucking eyes out and tell them to buy their kid some decent clothes. Our kid loves their kid though, so of course we had to spend some time. A la laa.


While John chilled with them, I went to Deb and discovered the Plus Size department. The 36 Dubbs need more than the junior department can provide these days, it seems. I was pretty stoked 'cause the shirts over there have thick enough straps to wear a bra underneath, and they're a little bit longer, which is good for fat tits and fat guts. The only thing is.... wow. They sure do look like fat girl clothes. I do not look like a regular girl with big boobs. I look like a fat girl. Eck.


I think I need more Prozac. Two a day isn't doing it anymore. A punching bag would be good, too. A really soft one, though. Cause I'm a pussy. A really, really, really, really mad pussy.

score

Today at the flea market I got a really cute little nautical throw pillow and a Cabbage Patch kid. Then at a resale shop which I will never visit again because all the clothes were scummy and faded, I found an On My Way with Sesame Street book that I didn't have yet. And THEN. We went to Taco Bell. And they gave us the WRONG ORDER. But it was still a GOOD ORDER!! Instead of a Cheesy Gordita Crunch, I had a Double Decker Taco. A soft taco instead of a hard one. And a bean burrito sent from the heavens. Yummmm. Then we went to the grocery store. We bought lots of stuff. I don't know if I want Sea Salt and Malt Vinegar chips, or Tostitos and Salsa. Or Tostitos and Salsa Con Queso. By the way, did they stop making Hint of Lime Tostitos? I loved them. :(

no fucking way

You won't believe what happened last night. A cop came to the door and asked for me. John was all like, oh God, what did you do? LOL. But!! He was here to tell us!! That the Elyria Police!! FOUND MY PURSE!! Which was STOLEN!! In NOVEMBER!! We had to go get it that night. The cop was uber hot. My pics of Tris were still in there, but they'd been in someone's "treelawn" (whatthefuckisatreelawn?) for five months and so are very smeary. The cockfaces took all the CHANGE out of my purse. Can you imagine being that poor?? It makes me sooooo mad - it was found just feet from my dad's house, where we had looked up and down the street for an hour. If I would have just known then.... :( Anyway. There were so many little buggies living in there that I took what I could still use (library card, social security cards, grocery card, etc.) and just tossed the thing in the garage. I didn't want the snailies to die! It's not their fault that their house just happened to be my purse!! Now they can live happily in our fabulous rural dirt. As for the dirt who stole my purse in the first place... I hope all those pennies bought you a fine bottle of Boone's, or some milk for your kid, or a joint. Oh, and fuckyouverymuch.

initiations

Over this long weekend, I have become a member of two very exclusive clubs: The Mommies Who Have Been Puked Upon, and The Mommies Who Have Had Their Titties Bitten. Ah, isn't this world a wonderful place??

sinfully delicious

My dad. bought me. Half. A case. Of Tagalongs. Do you know how many cookies that is? That's six boxes. SIX BOXES!! Ninety of the most delicious confections known to man. I guess he doesn't care if my gut hangs out anymore.


We did one of my favorite shopping trips today: the Borders Outlet and PetLand. I petted kitties!! I talked to a nice old woman!! I got a lot of awesome books!! I need to go update my Amazon Wishlist, as I got a couple of things off of it (but at a deliciously DEEP discount!) - Watch Me Grow, I'm 2 and The Complete Book Of Hebrew Baby Names. I also got Tristan a PASSOVER board book, which is creepy, funny, and educational at the same time. Plus I got this book called Sweet Secrets, which isn't about toy jewelry that transforms into a doll, but rather, is a collection of menstruation stories. I already read a bunch of them. It's soooooo good!! Oh, and Naked Babies, which was written by (I <3) Anna Quindlen and photographed by someone who is not Anna Quindlen. Baby feets make me want to snuggle!


We also picked up Tristan's Easter stuff. His basket is a little tin bucket! We got a smooshy little Volkswagen car for the tub, two packs of Hot Wheels, a sparkly pinwheel, some Goldfish crackers, Marshmallow Peeps (DUH), and some Little Debbie Strawberry Shortcake rolls to go in it. Then he is getting a Talking Teletubby (Laa-Laa) and a Harry Lamb like mine, but yellow. My girl one (with white fur) is called Merry Lamb.... I wonder what we'll name Tristan's? Oh, and a Bear in The Big Blue House video. Is it Christmas??


A quick aside: John and I got all excited after reading the Passover book to observe it as piously as we could. Unfortunately.... it turns out that Passover began at Sundown. And I made pasta salad for dinner. So we have already failed. God is so going to smote me. On the other hand, I think this is a *prime* excuse to visit my beloved Max's Deli for some of their famously tasty Matzoh Ball Soup. Mmmmm...... Matzoh.

whoa

I am both disturbed by and enamored with the Mutant Silents Dollmaker at CrAzie Dollz. That is all.

more support

It has come to my attention that I was not giving everyone's goodies a fair shake. (Get it? SHAKE? ha ha ha haha) So it is my pleasure to present....





Jock Support. :)

showing my support

I was just reading through some older posts by my good friend The Dynamite Diva, and I was so inspired by her support of our troops, that I realized it was time I stood up for something I believed in myself. I encourage all of you to save this banner to your own ftp sites and display it on your blog or homepage with pride....





Come on. Who doesn't support boobies??

guess what? I know the heimlich maneuver!

Or at least, some semblance of it, as I managed to keep my kid from choking to death this afternoon.


Guess what else? Clifford Fruit Snacks, the most delicious of their kind, should apparently not be fed to anyone who doesn't have a full set of adult teeth. They are gummier than most and contain one piece that is the width of a nickel, and a good half inch thick. I guess I should have known better in the first place, but Tristan has always eaten the Sesame Street Fruit Snacks without any problem, so I thought that the much yummier Clifford snacks would be fine as well. What a stupid mommy am I.


It should be noted that John then bitched and stomped off because I wanted him to make dinner (instead of going outside to do some sort of important man thing, like moving rocks) while I comforted our freaked out, hysterical little boy in front of his favorite movie. When I said, "John, our kid just almost choked to death," he looked at me like I was a complete idiot and replied, "He did NOT almost choke to death, he was just CHO-KING. If he was choking for like five minutes, THEN he would have almost choked to death." Then I looked at him like HE was the idiot (and an asshole):"If he was choking for five minutes, HE'D BE DEAD."


"I know!! And that's why he wasn't choking to death!!"


"You weren't even THERE."


And he WASN'T. He didn't see the look on the poor baby's face or hear the horrible sound that I heard coming from his throat. The non-sound of something horribly, horribly wrong.


We also got into a fight last night, because I want a pair of kittens, and he says no more kittens. Then he said I don't respect him, and I can't always have what I want, and this is his house too. Then I got online and went to one of my mommy message boards, where I found out that one of the mommies had gone into preterm labor with her second child. Her first daughter. She weighed less than a pound, was about 8 and a half inches long, and lived for twenty minutes.


It has been a bad weekend.

grrrrrr

So I found out today that my dad made a disparaging comment about me. To my husband. When they went out to eat together earlier this week after John helped him move a bunch of shit. This is the same cockfuck who told me my GUT WAS HANGING OUT and that I needed to do something about it (even though he, not so long ago, weighed about 280 pounds), and laughed as I struggled with his grandson and cockily asked the child's father, "Doesn't it make you appreciate your parents so much now? Don't you wonder how they PUT UP WITH YOUR SHIT?" The same guy who, a few weeks ago, saw his grandson's new haircut and said, "WHO BUTCHERED HIS HAIR?!?", then had the nerve to ask why I got so upset whenever he "said anything to me." The same guy who always asks are we bringing our son when we come visit, NOT because he wants to see his grandchild, but because he "never gets to show us his cool stuff or play his music loud." The same guy who made me eat at my own little table in my own little room the whole time my parents were married, because he COULDN'T STAND HAVING ME AT THE TABLE. I was the quietest, most subdued child you could ever meet. Beleev dat.


So I'm playing with Tristan, in a happy mood, getting him all dressed up to go to dinner with Grampa. John has been complaining ALL day that he smells something odious, and he starts spraying all kinds of Glade and lights a candle. I am like, "I do not smell what you are smelling." And he says, "I just want the house to smell good since your dad always makes a big deal about it not being clean when he comes." And I am like, "What are you talking about? He never says anything!" (Quite the CONTRARY, in fact. He always says that "it's not a big deal, I have a kid to take care of, and it's not like it's a total trash heap, we just have laundry and dishes that need done." Like, verbatim.) To which John replies, "Yeah, not to your face." And I am like. What. The. Fuck. What did he say. Tell me. "No, I shouldn't have said anything."


"No. Did he say something to you? You'd better fucking tell me if he did. What did he say? What?"


"Well, you know that snotty little way he says everything. He was just like, "Ehhh, Tina doesn't like to clean very much, does she? Ehhhh!" ("Eh" in this case is like a short e sound, not the Canajin "ayyyyyy" that we all know and love. Just for clarification's sake. And my dad looks and sounds like Jon Lovitz, if he was the biggest asshole in the world.)


So here's my lesson for today:


1. DON'T TALK SHIT ABOUT YOUR OWN KID. You motherfucking cocksucker. Fuck you.


2. MORE IMPORTANTLY, if you don't want any kids, DON'T FUCKING HAVE THEM. Don't go fucking seventeen year old girls without a condom. Ass.


3. If you are GOING TO TALK SHIT ABOUT YOUR OWN KID, DON'T be talking it to your kid's boyfriend, girlfriend, husband, wife, gay lover, lesbian, or kid.


4. And finally, if someone says something shitty about your spouse to you, and you don't FUCKING DEFEND them, and/or DON'T FUCKING TELL THEM, EVEN IF YOU ARE JUST TRYING TO SAVE THEIR FEELINGS, you are almost as bad as the shit talker.


current mood: fuckyou


current music: Sunny Day Real Estate - "Round"

random thoughts

I am so rocking the Too Superlows today. They are effing HOTT. I love them sooo much cause they're like way broken in. Like thrift store jeans. They're also probably the slimmest-legged jeans I own, with only an 18.5" opening. For the longest time after flares became popular (1998, the year after I graduated high school) I couldn't wear them. I stuck to my darling wide-legs because I refused to admit that I had hips. (Very small ones, mind you. I'm totally apple shaped.) I used to have a teeny flat ass as well. But pregnancy and a lot of Haagen-Dazs have finally blessed me with a big old bubble. I also grew about three inches between age 16 and 21, so I don't have to cuff my pants anymore to keep from walking on them. Now, I wear my flare (and bootcut!) with pride.


Additionally. I think I am so lucky that I can eat a box of Tagalongs in one sitting (there ARE only fifteen in the box, you know) and all the ice cream and french fries that I desire, and can still somehow cram my ass into a size 11. I never thought I had any form of disordered eating, but when I think back on what I ate my senior year of high school, I realize that it's no wonder I wore a 4.


Breakfast: Half a bowl of oatmeal, glass of skim milk OR half a grapefruit, glass of ice water


Lunch: Lipton Cup-a-Soup (chicken noodle) OR a salad. Occasionally, some cheetos. Yum.


Dinner: Whatever I or my momma cooked. Usually it was chicken. Or steak. Mmmmm, steak.


Now, that sounds reasonable, right? I had a delicate stomach, you see. And I did pepper that with a LOT of McDonald's french fries and hot fudge sundaes over the course of my high school years. The thing is..... I was never limiting myself on purpose, or thinking about it. But. Was my delicate stomach just a mental thing? Or was I really prone to nausea? When I got preggers, I realized how easy it would be for me to become bulimic. I puked about 30 times a day for three months straight. I quickly learned how to make myself do it, just to be rid of the sick feeling. I could probably cough one up right now if you asked me to. In fact, I know I could, because I picked up what I thought was a clean mug about an hour ago, poured in coffee and milk, drank it all down, then got to the bottom and promptly discovered a rubbery mess of old milk goo. *shudder* Anyway. I'm not that fat. So yay.


One more thing: I so totally need to either get back on the pill or pregnant again soon. My face looks like a beeg-a peetza pie!

pacific sunwear is my new favorite store, and stephen collins is even cuter in person

I LOVE PACIFIC SUNWEAR!! I decided today that it is my new favorite store. In the past month I think I've dropped at least $150 there (of my husband's money, of course.) Now, keep in mind that almost all of this money was spent on $6.99 and $4.99 shirts and 2 for $20 pants. John and I have now amassed entire new fall/winter/spring wardrobes (because here in Ohio, we only have two seasons: Fucking Cold, and Summer.) There are four Pacific Sunwear stores that I frequent, and today I got to hit my favorite one again. Lo and behold, it turned out that THEY ARE THE STORE that all of the clearance crap from the others gets shipped to!! I had a pair of pants to exchange from *yesterday's* PacSun jaunt (John said they would look hot on me. He was wrong) so I brought them along on our Strongsville Trip.

(A somewhat amusing aside: I meant to blog this when it happened but have been distracted as all hell lately... when I visited this same store a few weeks ago, the clerk who was taking fucking forever to ring me up and her don't-I-look-like-Chris-Carabba-if-he-worked-in-a-cheesy-ass-mall colleague were having a total bullshit contest with each other. I swear, it was the two biggest bullshitters on the planet arguing about who was the cooler one. It seems that one of them knew someone who used to be a rep for some record label, but the other one might be getting a job with a hipper record label. Well, then it turned out that Emo Boy in fact USED TO BE a rep for a label. No, no, Arguing-Not-Ringing-Chick knew someone who was a rep for SONY. Thank god her co-worker knew that SONY ISN'T A LABEL and shouted it from the back of the store. THEY JUST OWN OTHER LABELS. Well, she knew it was whatever label "That band? Trapt? Like, Tee-Are-Ay-Pee-Tee? Is on? Whatever label that is." I think at this point in the conversation I was wondering if those spikey bracelets they sell really *would* break someone's face if applied correctly. Especially since the chick reminded me of the most annoying bitch at my high school. Her name was Dawn, but I saw her waitressing in a TGI Fridays a few years ago, where she informed me that "IT'S SELENA NOW." End of aside.)

So I traded my makes-my-ass-look-flat pants for some Too Superlow Levi 520s. (I always buy the lowest rise I can find, as I'm built like a Ford worker who just can't give up the daily twelve-pack.) I could just die. My ass crack hangs out, like, two inches more than it usually does in my jeans. HOTT. I cannot even believe that I got $42 pants for $10. Woohoo! I also tossed two $4.99 tops - a 3/4 sleeve stripey polo (which I like to think of as my "signature" style) and a RILLY CYOOT turtlenecky sweater with EMBROIDERED SNOWFLAKES! - and two pairs of awesome Tilt jeans in there. I don't know if Tilt is JUST a Pacific Sunwear brand - I didn't think it was, but as that is almost all that's on their clearance rack, I wonder. But they have THE BEST pants. I swear, my ass looks GOLDEN. One pair was missing the top button, and had been there - for TEN DOLLARS - since December. DECEMBER!! It took me five minutes to sew one on. Stupid girls. Anyway... Total? $32.47. The guy who waited on me was SO HOTT, and SO NICE. He talked about how he got his girlfriend a bunch of the $4.99 clothes, and I thought he was a great guy. But when we got home, John informed that the guy was, in fact, just throwing off my Gaydar. And now that I think about it - a guy who takes home clothes for his girlfriend?!? HA! - I realize that he was almost certainly right. Which saddens me a little. The cute ones always are....


But enough about my clothes. Let's talk about the REASON I was in Strongsville in the first place - STEPHEN COLLINS!!! He signed books and CDs today at Borders from 3 till 5:30. Well, he was supposed to be there until 5:30, but there was SUCH A BIG TURNOUT that he stayed until 6:15. Thank GOD, because when I got up there to meet him, it was 6 pm. The crowd was pretty much what you would expect - you had your retards, your cripples, your fat ladies with their homely daughters, and Seventh-Heaven-lovin' teeny boppers like me. To my delight, there was also one Trekkie family - a very ugly couple and their 10-year-old son, who had these weird pointy shoulder pads under his, umm, Trekkie shirt. I wondered why they were there for about an hour or so, until John returned to me from the magazine section and asked if Stephen Collins used to be on Star Trek. Of course, I just read a big article about him being in some Star Trek movie the other night, but that's not the kind of information I have room for, what with all that weed I used to smoke. They were all out of Stephen's erotic mystery novels by the time we got there, so I broke down and spent the $18 on his new CD, because I figured that if the guy is nice enough to sit there for three hours and shake hands with idiots who are asking him things like "Is Mrs. Camden as nice in person as she looks on TV?", the least I could do is throw the guy a little profit. Besides, he sang pretty on Seventh Heaven. As I stood in the 90-minute line, I heard this really groovy doo-wop loungey stuff playing, and I was like, "Ohmigod!! I think this is his CD!! It's so gooooooood!!!" Which was such a deliciously pleasant surprise. In front of me in line was a Fat Mom/Ugly Daughter combo, and they kept getting out of line to grab books on collectible dolls, NASCAR, and Omar Vizquel, then getting out of line AGAIN to put said books back. And bending over and sticking their giant white trash asses in my face. Behind me were two darling, giggly teenyboppers. The cuter one's cell phone had a vaguely familiar, but unidentifiable ringtone, which I heard about twenty-seven times, in addition to one side of a debate with her mother over whether she fed the dog before she left. When you are 23, 16 seems soooooo young.

So I got up to the front of the line. I met Mr. Collins, and he was a delighfully charming man. He's a quiet talker, and he has big, strong hands. His hair was longer and thinner than I expected, but his eyes are sooooooo sparkly, and his SMILE!!! ::dies:: He is gorgeous. Especially for a man who graduated COLLEGE in the 1960s. I made John go to Target and buy a disposable camera since I forgot the digital in my rush to get out the door by 4:00, and he took a picture of Mr. Collins with his ARM AROUND ME!!! (Just like he did for every other ugly woman - don't worry, I have no illusions or stalker tendencies here.) I tried hard not to say anything incredibly retarded (per my history of making famous people hate me), he said thank you for coming out, and then it was all over. My brush with greatness. Ahhh, Stephen Collins. I hardly knew ye.

I'm drinking the whole milk today, and i don't care how fat it makes me. It's sooooo creamy.

I also heated up cold cuts for lunch. Which makes them hot cuts, I think.

But cutting is NEVER hot. So don't.

so fucking yay

Next Thursday, at the Borders in Strongsville, I AM GOING TO MEET STEPHEN COLLINS!!!!!!!! OMG, I could die. He's like #21 on the crush list. *diediedie* I wonder if he'll sign my boob......


current mood: sickies :(

current music: The Promise Ring - Deep South

current crush: Jon, it's all you, baby. Not to mention: STEPHEN! FUCKING! COLLINS!!!

superbaby

Today, Tristan learned how to:

1. Eat with a spoon;

2. Open the door to the laundry room; and

3. Climb up onto the couch all by himself.


It's too bad John just folded up the playpen today, because I think I'm going to be needing it A LOT more often now....